


Live Through This

by chains_archivist



Series: Life by Morgana Black / Jen [4]
Category: The X-Files
Genre: Boys in Chains, F/M, Mulder Torture, Prison, Sexual Content, Torture, Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-02
Updated: 2015-04-02
Packaged: 2018-03-20 21:33:55
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,308
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3665928
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/chains_archivist/pseuds/chains_archivist
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>by Morgana Black/Jen</p>
            </blockquote>





	Live Through This

**Author's Note:**

> Note from Dusk, the archivist: this work was originally archived at [Boys in Chains](http://fanlore.org/wiki/Boys_in_Chains), which opened in 2000 as a multifandom archive for both fiction and art, but then sadly went offline in 2005. To bring the archive back, I began manually importing its works to the AO3 as an Open Doors-approved project in December 2014. Open Doors [posted an announcement](http://archiveofourown.org/admin_posts/1832) and e-mailed all creators about the move, but may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this author, please [contact the Open Doors committee](http://transformativeworks.org/contact/open%20doors).  
> \--  
> Disclaimer: All X-Files characters belong to CC, 1013 and FBN. The Mistress remains mine.
> 
> Warning/Summary: This is MulderTorture. Rated N-17 for violence and sexual content. This is the fourth installment of the "Life" series. If you've read it, you know what *that* means...
> 
> Thanks as always to Shirley, phyre~ for going above and beyond the call of duty and as always, FB:)

The lengths of his chains allow just enough access to his cot. Just enough so he can rest his chest at its edge, leaving the lower half of his naked body to turn, twist. To find what comfort it may, on the cold cement beneath him, even in sleep. He rests his head on folded arms. One hand cradles his cheek like a child's, pressing his lips into a lush pout. Dark forelocks hang over his eyes and he moans, he murmurs. I watch his intoxicating mouth in its movements.

It's time to play. I made this. I made him. They may have given him to me, but he's my creation. Climbing the steps to prepare myself, his cries, his pleas follow me, echoing in seductive despair. They hasten my ascent.

*****

Familiar fingers dig into my shoulder to wake me. I startle from sleep to the hovering face of Thing One. Hoarse shouts swirl through my cell. Surely not mine. The wrenching of my throat betrays my denial. I don't want to--I can't help it.

Scully's alive and for her I can live through this. I hold close an image unfocused of her soft face, even as they drag me up through sleep and screams. The bitch is coming for me.

*****

He huddles now at the far end of his chains, weeping softly at my entrance and, oh, his beautiful pain undoes me. His cock stiffens at my appearance. He is such a slut. Three strides and I stand above him.

Widened eyes tilt up to me.

"Bend over the cot, Fox."

His tiny hesitation curls my hand into a swinging fist that explodes against his cheekbone. He cringes in stunning helplessness.

"Bend over your cot. Now."

Emotions flitter across his face. He rolls slowly over the cot burying his head into the mattress, fisting his hands, displaying his deeply beautiful scarred back, his vulnerable ass. Clenched fists loosen and his arms slide down to wrap around his torso. He pulls his shoulders up around his ears. A protective posture. As if he  
could protect himself from me. He tries to curl his legs in closer to his body. The cot prevents this. He quivers and the cell fills with his harsh breathing.

As I kneel down next to him, and he flips his head to face the opposite direction. "Fox, look at me."

I ponder the soft nape of his neck as his head jerks slightly. He doesn't obey.

"Fox, I gave Scully her cancer."

*****

I twist to lunge at the bitch, chains tangling around my legs. My hands barely brush her throat when Things One and Two intercept with a cracking white blow to my head. When I come around, held down by the bitch's staff, cold cement presses against the side of my face and my belly. She stands above, and then her knees hit the floor in front of my face as she bends over me.

"Oh, Fox." she hisses in my ear. "You're still in there, aren't you?"

"Hate you." barely a whisper.

"Of course, darling." she purrs, raking skeletal fingers through my hair. "The question remains, what shall we play tonight?"

"Let's play 20 questions." God, I can feel my erection pulse between my belly and the cement. "Me first."

The fingers in my hair fist, pulling my head up to plunge it back down to the cement. I see the blood that flies from my nose splatter a pattern onto her knees.

"Can you save her?" I hate the desperate hope in my question.

Another bash against cement. My own bloody snivel protests the pain.

"Fox," she chides. "I want to play a different game tonight."

"...please...Scully?" I grit out the words...my face slams cement once more. The bitch's bloody knees blur. The room slides out of focus.

*****

He's awakening. Eyelids flutter and his tongue tentatively touches bloodied lips. My dangerous toy lies on his back on the cement. The iron collar around his neck wears a much shorter chain. He arches over the wrists shackled together at the small of his back. Ankles, too, wear tight bonds. All this to prevent my pet's bite.

My legs planted on each side of his torso create triangular lines that his waking eyes track. Up my legs, my naked body, past my crotch to rest on my face. Once his sight touches my face, hazel eyes blast hate....he twists in his bonds. I smile down at him. Too bad. So sad.

Then his eyes drift down to my right hand and what it holds, what that means; it is just a little thing. I squat astride his abdomen, provoking a grunt. A signal that my weight grinds the iron around his wrists into flesh. Mmmm, I watch eyes blur from hazel to black as they process my intention. My hand snakes around behind me to touch his cock ... rock hard ... no surprise, my gorgeous slut.

I release him and roll forward, trapping his head between my elbows. Our noses touch, eyes lock. My mouth descends toward his and he turns quickly sideways to avoid me. I freeze to admire his profile: eyes clenched tight against me, full lips pressed, chiseled features locked in restraint. Oh, and his mole, his beauty mark. His beauty marked him for me.

When I discovered they needed him removed, I begged for him--because of his beauty. I begged to make him mine and, oh, he is my creature now.

*****

The bitch sits on my stomach, bending over me. Please, Scully, give me strength. The bitch's mouth moves toward me and I turn away. The things she's done to me with that maw.

It's an exacto knife she wields. She makes sure I see, twisting it so the light refracts from it around my cell. She delights in my anxiety, my uncertainty as to what she'll do next. The bitch's talent for inflicting pain appears infinite. And my traitorous cock, hardening, despite my intention.

Suddenly I'm unburdened by her weight and hear my groan as blood rushes back into my hands. She returns to her former stance above me. "Look at me, Fox." she demands again. I look...the proverbial cat's out of the bag, she knows she deals with me and not the simpleton I briefly portrayed.

She twists her right wrist, fingers holding the blade, glints of light refracting around my cell from its movements. "What should I do with this, Fox?"

"Shove it up your ass, perhaps?" I suggest. Doesn't matter what I say.

The brittle line of her mouth creaks into her version of a smirk. "An interesting idea...I'll file it for future use." She settles to her knees beside me. A deft flick of fingers repositions the blade to hold it like a paintbrush. The bitch the artist, and I her canvas. The blade hovers, hesitant over my torso, as if she wonders where to begin. My own quiet sounds of anticipation begin, escalating as she positions the blade above the tissue of my inner thigh, where it meets the pelvis, very close to a major tendon.

*****

Oh, here is my Fox; intellect and horror entwine his face into perfection as my blade sinks deeply into tender flesh. His entire body arcs against the penetration, actually forcing the blade deeper. His lavish scream and spilling blood almost push me over the edge. I pull out the blade, toss it over my shoulder as I mount him. His screaming breaks into short bursts of cries, unsuccessfully suppressed. My eyes feed voraciously on his despairing face as he thrusts.

*****

The cycle continues. I wait for a break, a chance to beat the bitch at her game. I know she holds the key to Scully's future. I only hope that I can endure this life until I find it.

eeez done....


End file.
